I used to come home wasted

I used to come home wasted, it was 4AM and my mother was ready to hand me a slap.

I used to come home wasted, it was after a couple of parties for a night, hard ones.

I used to come home wasted, damnnn high in life — and drunk in love. Making calls, wishing someone to stay.

I used to come home wasted, trying to sleep — drowned in tears. Sending texts, begging someone to leave.

I used to come home wasted, I was so mad I fell on my knees.

I used to come home wasted, looking for foods and please myself while the world was sound asleep.

I used to come home wasted, made the wrong choice, left the right one.

I used to come home wasted, starring at my phone, begging you to stop wishing — as we’re heading to dead end.

And I used to wake up feeling sick, left with a splash of booze, and a whole lot of guilt.

And I used to wake up in love, starting the day so sweet, John Mayer was put on beats; that was a daydream.

And I used to wake up to the sound of your voice, saying those 3 words that meant nothing to date.

And I used to wake up knowing how it goes, looking for a temporary fix.

And I used to wake up covered in shame, knowing all my decisions only brought me hell.

And after coming home and waking up — for about the 99th time

I made the 100th to be an exit.

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